


Crucible

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: Cowgirl Position, F/F, Femslash February 2019, Multiple Orgasms, PWP, Strap-On, basically morag rides brighid yeehaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:23:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: She goes faster and faster until her teeth are digging into her neck and Mòrag is leaving trails of scratches across her back, the heat swallowing them both in their own crucible.





	Crucible

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually my piece for day 18 of femslash february, but i decided to post it separately so i wouldn't have to bump up the rating for that entire collection
> 
> i got lazy and skipped the foreplay in this one, mb!! this has very minimal editing since i'm too tired rn, i'll check it over later

“I kept the bed warm for you, Lady Mòrag.” 

Mòrag musters up the most humorless stare she can manage, but it’s difficult to maintain when Brighid’s nothing but playful. She’s not stupid enough to take these moments for granted, no. So she merely scoffs and treads across soft carpet to stand by the vanity, hastily brushing out the tangles in her wet hair. 

In the mirror, she can see Brighid all relaxed on the bed, her smile ever patient and maddening. They’re not in an inn. They can afford to let loose when it’s their own home.

“Let me dry your hair for you.”

“Just give me a minute.”

Brighid pouts. “Don’t tell me you’re going to bother with any makeup.”

“Don’t I always want to look my best for you?”

It’s Brighid’s turn to scoff. She stretches—  _her nudity is very distracting, always distracting_ — and Mòrag stops herself from simply flinging her towel aside and jumping her. No, there’s always a rhyme and rhythm to the games they play. Neglecting to abide by those unsaid rules means… punishment, usually. 

And not the fun kind of punishment, either. 

Well, sometimes. 

Her back is still turned, though they can both clearly see each other in the mirror. Mòrag puts the brush down and takes a deep breath. How do these things work? They simply are, they simply happen. She’s grateful for that simplicity. It’s nice, having no need to overthink things once in a while, even if she’s always conscious about making sure Brighid is comfortable and satiated.

“Are you going to join me, or should I come over to you?” 

“Patience, Brighid.” 

“I might do something drastic if you make me wait any longer.” 

That’d be nice, actually. But Mòrag obliges and turns, going over to stand at the foot of the bed. She slowly unwraps the towel from around herself and drops it. 

Brighid is wearing that familiar harness, but the dildo attached to it is new. Mòrag warily eyes it; it’s not so big to cause any alarm or apprehension, but it’s still larger than the last one Brighid wanted to use on her. Nonetheless, she crawls onto the bed and toward her, only stopping to release her hair from its tie and allow the strands to fall freely between her shoulderblades. 

It’s nearly embarrassing, how wet she already is, but Brighid always did have that effect on her. 

Brighid leans back against the pillows, arms leisurely folded behind her head— her tongue darts out between her lips as she watches Mòrag sit up and carefully straddle her body. The strap-on rubs up against her from behind, and Mòrag is unable to hold back a small shiver at the contact. It’s slicked up already; how considerate of Brighid to prep beforehand. She’s not _nervous_ , though, she’s never nervous. Apprehensive, perhaps, as if she’s concerned that it wouldn’t be enough. 

That’s one of her flaws, if Brighid had to name them. She always tries so damn hard. 

“Feel free to go at your own pace,” she sweetly smiles and runs her hands up and down Mòrag’s thighs. Her skin is soft, though the muscles are hard. Mòrag shoots a quick glare at her, but it quickly wavers when one of Brighid’s hands move past that patch of dark hair to gently feel her arousal. 

“Ah…” 

Her fingers rub back and forth, teasing her folds, and Mòrag jolts when Brighid lightly presses a fingertip against her clit. Her entire body is trembling now. She wants to… she wants to kiss her, to ease her down. But that can come later. They’re getting excited, now. Brighid can feel it inside and out. 

“Here, let me help you with that,” Brighid murmurs. 

She briefly squeezes Mòrag’s hip and guides her to raise herself up, reaches between her legs to grab the dildo, and gently eases Mòrag down onto it. 

Her reaction is just about immediate: teeth digging into her lower lip, her brows furrowed together in brief discomfort, immaculate nails digging into Brighid’s shoulders. Mòrag exhales, slowly, as she lowers herself further until only a sliver of the toy is visible beneath her. Does it hurt…? No, she takes a deep breath and rolls the tension out of her shoulders, slowly, carefully sitting upright to gaze down at Brighid with half-lidded eyes. 

Brighid caresses her flushed skin and waits. Mòrag makes a small noise, so weak and vulnerable that it brings a thrum within Brighid’s chest.

“It feels… tight,” she mumbles, seemingly frozen in place. 

“If it hurts—“ 

Stubborn as always, she shakes her head. “Don’t underestimate me.”

_There_ she is. Brighid can’t hold back a grin, and sharply thrusts her hips upward with no warning. 

That’s all it takes to set her off. Mòrag cries out and arches her back as the dildo is pushed all the way into her, muscles clenching around it, and presses her palms down upon Brighid’s stomach and chest to stop herself from collapsing as she begins with a slow pace, hips clumsily rising and falling. She rides it slowly, deliberately, still too tense and eyes now squeezed shut. Brighid stops moving altogether to allow Mòrag to adjust on her own, watching every twitch and shiver and the way she bites her lip in concentration. 

Only Mòrag would take _fucking_ this seriously. 

“You need to relax, Lady Mòrag.” Soothingly, she brushes strands of hair away from her face. 

Through grit teeth: “I’m— I’m fine.” 

At least she seems to settle on a position she’s comfortable with, though her hands had settled to grip the sheets at her sides for balance rather than Brighid. Disappointing, but sure. She brings her own arms up to run her palms across Mòrag’s abdomen, feeling the definition of the muscles there, drawing a soft moan from her. 

“Am I going too slow—?” she blurts out, never faltering in that maddeningly relaxed tempo. Brighid tries not to laugh out loud.

“Like I said, you’re free to go at your own pace.” 

“But…” 

Her smile widens. “I _did_ expect a bit more from the Special Inquisitor, though.” 

There’s a glint in Mòrag’s eye. She comes to be still around the toy, on top of Brighid, and slightly shifts. Warmth is burning through both of them; Brighid allows their affinity link to burn ether throughout Mòrag. Goading her on is so… laughably easy, at times. Just to encourage her a bit more, she simultaneously thrusts upwards and pulls Mòrag down by her hips, reveling in that spiking tension.

“Ah— ahh…” Mòrag sighs aloud, jolting but not struggling against Brighid. She braces herself and resumes her movements. 

The strap-on makes a slick sound as she rolls her hips in a rhythmic motion that steadily quickens, up and down, up and down, slamming herself upon Brighid’s lap, losing herself in the sensations. Mòrag scrambles at the sides, then grabs for Brighid’s hands in a nearly desperate motion. She’s going faster. 

Her gasping become sharp cries and moans that become nearly indistinguishable from one another. Still, she rides the toy as swiftly as she can, to the point where Brighid isn’t even certain if it’s more painful or pleasurable for her. Soft sounds of her skin slapping against Brighid’s join her timed whimpers.

But then the corners of her lips twitch upwards, though her eyes are still closed in concentrated bliss. 

She can’t— nothing would be more fun than to flip them over and pound into Mòrag until she can scarcely move, until she comes too many times to count and she’s completely at Brighid’s mercy. The thought makes her breath catch in her throat, and Brighid swallows (oh, her mouth is dry) and reaches up to freely touch and grope and rub Mòrag’s body all over as her Driver continues to bounce up and down upon the strap-on. More obscene noises come from both her mouth and between her legs. Oh, she’s a _mess._

It’s funny, how pride and ego can contradict themselves like this. 

“How’s… this…?” Mòrag gasps, holding onto Brighid’s shoulders so tightly that it almost hurts. Her nails will probably leave marks. At least they’ll fade within minutes (or, would it be nice to bear marks upon her body from Lady Mòrag for a while…?). 

“If it feels as good as it sounds, I can’t think of any criticisms,” she breathlessly laughs. “How befitting, of the Empire’s finest.” 

She always did respond well to Brighid’s praise the most, out of any other compliments anyone else had ever paid her. Mòrag’s breath is hot as she groans and presses her face close to Brighid’s Core Crystal, her entire body shuddering and tensing up as her hips twitch once, twice, with her orgasm. Brighid holds her close in a warm embrace. 

“Is it still inside you?” she asks after a moment, their breathing nearly in sync. She nuzzles Mòrag’s hair aside to find her ear, and nibbles at the edge of it. 

“Mmh…” A tired nod. Brighid is… warm. The ether is warm. She lifts her head to look at Brighid, eyes still hazy. Wordlessly, Mòrag sits back up and resumes her previous position as she had ridden her. 

“How tenacious,” Brighid says, amused and entirely unsurprised. “Don’t strain yourself, now.” 

“If you won’t fuck me then I’m left to do all the work, aren’t it?” Mòrag offers a wry smile. She gropes and squeezes Brighid’s breasts and begins to move all over again, completely steady this time. The ether is a boon, invigorating her. “I need to make sure you cum as well.” 

“And you think this is the best way to accomplish that?” 

“No, but I know you prefer wearing the strap-on.” 

Well, she’s not wrong. Plus, she finds more pleasure in watching— watching Mòrag work herself up, watching Mòrag willingly sink to animalistic depravity, watching Mòrag frantically bounce on the toy even harder than before, so hard the bed audibly creaks. 

Brighid can’t hold her composure like this. Her breath is quick and heavy, the aching between her legs threatening to ignite into flames. All she can think of to do is place her hands over Mòrag’s and intertwine their fingers. At times like these, their affinity link doesn’t feel like it’s nearly enough. 

Mòrag’s voice is pitched, head tilted back to expose her throat and her own breasts bouncing along with her movements. Brighid wants to say something— maybe a crude comment about her appearance, or her wild enthusiasm, but all she can do is echo those noises of pleasure and moan along. 

Dark hair falls across her face as she comes with a tight little convulsion, then Mòrag is building back to that hurried pace all over again. 

Shouldn’t she at least pause? Catch her breath? No, Brighid knows she only ever does things in spades. Besides, the ether is plentiful. 

It takes no effort to flip them over to push Mòrag onto her back. Brighid is careful to keep their hips pressed together, and Mòrag automatically locks her legs around her waist. 

Brighid opens her eyes. 

She doesn’t need to ask or wait. Mòrag grips the crumpled sheets beneath her and pants, chest heaving as Brighid roughly fucks her. Watching her writhe, observing the tremble in her mouth, her expressions and her little movements and _everything_ is enough. 

That, and the harness is rubbing between her legs with every thrust. 

Warmth escalates into heat, and heat escalates into an inferno. Neither of them can tell what’s ether and what’s fire, solely focused on one another, their bodies finding each other in their rhythms to move in sync. She pushes in— her back curves— Brighid dips down to kiss her neck— Mòrag’s fingers tangle through her hair to pull her in even closer. 

There’s a quiet, mutual agreement in this new position, so simple yet so intimate. Brighid continues to kiss and lick at her exposed throat as her hips rock back and forth, pumping the dildo in and out of Mòrag. She goes faster and faster until her teeth are digging into her neck and Mòrag is leaving trails of scratches across her back, the heat swallowing them both in their own crucible.

_”Lady Mòrag—_ ” Brighid gasps, shuddering, her flames glowing so brightly that the entire room is briefly illuminated. Then, she’s still. 

Mòrag holds her lips against Brighid’s hair. She inhales, catching her breath. 

And they do nothing more, still wrapped up in each other and breathing in tangent. Eventually Brighid does roll off of her, though, and the strap-on slides out of Mòrag with a slick noise. It leaves a trail of wetness across her thigh; Mòrag lazily wipes at it with the corner of the blanket that had been kicked askew, unwilling to get up and go clean herself off. 

“You were right, by the way,” Brighid says, only slightly less out of breath in comparison. The privileges of being a Blade. “I do prefer wearing the strap-on.” 

“You _are_ more skilled at wielding it than I.” 

That damn phrasing, it's so like her— Brighid lays a hand over her forehead and laughs, then leans over to kiss Mòrag. Mòrag affectionately wraps an arm around her, more than happy to simply be and savor the evening together.


End file.
